


Rosemary

by xpityx



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 19:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12894678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xpityx/pseuds/xpityx
Summary: From a (very old) kinkmeme prompt:"A flowers for algernon situation with Rocket. Somehow his implants begin to fail or malfunction and he has to deal with his intellect and sense of self deteriorating. "





	Rosemary

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt [here](https://guardian-kink.livejournal.com/1806.html?thread=44302).
> 
> Super speedy beta by [SlumberousTrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlumberousTrash/pseuds/SlumberousTrash).

There was music in an engine. Didn’t matter if it was the Milano’s hyperdrive or the ticking warmth of a speedbike, they always sang to him the way Quill’s tinny songs never had. Quill’s “walkman” was just noise to Rocket: it was all either too fast or too slow, or you found the rhythm and then it stopped or changed beat. A change in the rhythm of the hyperdrive meant that they were about thirty seconds from being spread very thinly through about 20,000 klicks of real space, so it wasn’t exactly something he associated with warm gooey feelings.

 

This was something he could do: he could look at any mass of wires and circuits and see instantly what it did, which bits were worth stealing and which bits might blow them all up. The knowledge of being and knowledge of technology had been simultaneous: he’d looked at the automatic lock on his cage and had thought, _I know how to break that_. It had been the first time he’d thought of himself at all as something other than a jumble of pain and fear. Now fixing things was something he could help his friends with: it made him a useful member of the team and, most importantly, it was something that animals _couldn’t_ do. He had to concentrate to remember those lines sometimes when he was tired or hurt: people didn’t groom themselves, people didn’t sleep with their noses under their tails, and they absolutely did not identify their friends by scent... except that he did do that, he just tried to make sure no-one _knew_ he did that.

 

Gamora was easiest. He could tell when she’d left a room an hour before, even: her scent was thick and sharp, whereas Drax always smelt a little sad. He could probably walk the whole of the Milano with his eyes closed he knew the ship so well, but he was wary of reminding everyone what he really was. Most bipedals didn’t have the same senses as Rocket, and he’d prefer not to have to deal with either anyone’s pity or their unease. Failed science experiments, in his experience, should not remind those around them that they were failed science experiments.

 

But even he made mistakes sometimes, or at least, he started to make mistakes sometimes. The others were annoyed, especially when one particular fuck up nearly cost them the ship and the job, but then they were worried. They tried not to let it show but the smell leaked out all over the place until the whole ship smelt of people trying very hard not to freak the fuck out. Rocket wasn’t sure how he felt if he was honest. It was like he was fine and then all of a sudden there was nothing: just white noise and he couldn’t hear what anyone was saying. He still understood Groot 100% of the time, but everyone else seemed to slip into another language more and more often.

 

It took them all an embarrassing amount of time to work out what was happening. Like, he wasn’t even meant to fucking _exist,_ so why the fuck would he have been made to _last_?

 

He developed bald patches over where his implants were. They’d always bothered him, but he learnt pretty quickly that there was nothing that could be done for the kind of pain that had been sewn into you, so he ignored it. Except that when he was… when he was ‘gone’, he groomed himself over and over until there was nothing to cover the ugly scars and misshapen skin underneath.

 

He’d asked the others what the fuck did they think they were doing, they’d said they’d watch out for him for fuck’s sake while they tried to figure this out. Anyway, long story short, whenever anyone tried to stop him grooming himself he apparently growled and bit them. Rocket gave up asking after that. He thought he might have started to piss in the corner as well but as long as everyone had made a pact not to tell him what he did when he wasn’t himself, he was just going to go along with it.

 

He spent more time sitting with Groot: it had always been more instinct than intellect that had allowed them to converse anyway, so at least they could still talk occasionally. He’d stopped going near his guns weeks ago. If he was going to fuck up, he’d make sure it was only him who got hurt.

 

He tried to stay awake as much as possible as well. His dreams, when he remembered them, weren’t his old nightmares of being back in the lab, but of being lost, leaves crunching underfoot in the dark.

 

He’d thought that that had been it, that he couldn’t be more afraid, but it turned out that he hadn’t really known fear until he started to lose days at a time. He tried to make her - _fuck what the fuck was her name? -_ he tried to make her promise to kill him when he forgot everything, but he didn’t know what her answer had been or even if he had spoken out loud.

 

It was like diving to catch a fish, but each time he came up for air the world was different and the people in it were loud and upset. They came and went, these people, but he knew them and they let him sit with them. He had a favourite that he recognised by scent: oil and metal, sadness and safety. He would snuffle at her until she began to stroke him in long, slow passes of her hands, the movement soothing in its sameness. It was quiet and warm, so he often let himself be lulled into sleep. He dreamt and awoke, dreamt and awoke. Each time he woke up there was someone sat with him, but usually it was the woman. He curled into her side when she was there, and she sometimes put her face into the fur behind his head. He slept again, and in his dreams he loped through a dense forest, the loam soft and giving under his paws and the unfathomable cries of birds distant in the trees.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](http://xpityx.tumblr.com/).


End file.
